Did you decide that winter
is your vanishing season?
That the frost is where you take your leave?
I have starved on less,
but you swore I wouldn’t be hungry
this January.

So, why do all my pockets have holes
and my heart vacates like a hotel room
after a weeklong conference?

So, why am I alone, holding hands
with memories and begging stars
to tell you
goodbye doesn’t mean forever?

Isabelle Palerma